


A Study in Dæmons, Told in Four Parts

by silveryink



Category: His Dark Materials (TV)
Genre: 3+1 Things, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Daemons, Gen, Not really a study, but a fill for the HDM meme, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:54:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22256770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silveryink/pseuds/silveryink
Summary: Pantalaimon observes people and their dæmons, over the course of their journey to Svalbard.Alternatively, three dæmons Pan observed with their humans, and one honorary dæmon's appearance.
Relationships: Lyra Belacqua & Pantalaimon
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	A Study in Dæmons, Told in Four Parts

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This story isn't quite a character study so much as an amalgamation of headcanons disguised as short scenes. This is the most elaborate fill I have for the HDM meme, with four daemons and locations each. It follows the narration of the series, from Pan's point of view in some scenes. The way the HDM team depicted daemons was fascinating, and I thought I could try to explore that here.  
> Hope you all enjoy!

_Jordan College_

Oxford might have been full of universities, but no Scholar could ever be prepared for a bunch of children wreaking havoc about town. More specifically, none of the could have prepared for Lyra Belacqua. The scruffy twelve-year-old was known around town as one of the most impusive (and, to the other children, adventurous) inhabitants of the area. Those who knew her well could tell when she meant to cause mischief - be it by spreading her famous, fantastical tales or by vandalizing the local property. Alas, the few that did were too busy to warn the rest of her moods, and to watch her young dæmon for the right signals.

Pantalaimon and Lyra could not by any means separate past a few yards, but their bond that went past the sacred nature of a dæmon’s presence meant that they weren’t inclined to try. Indeed, of all the rules Lyra had broken, this had not been attempted once. The townies, children of other visiting Scholars and the kids who worked with the servants at Oxford were good enough company for a half-wild girl like Lyra, but some time to herself of quiet introspection with Pan was much appreciated, for she was not quite like the rest.

No, anyone who knew her for over five minutes would be more than willing to mention the feral look in her eyes and unwillingness to calm down for long enough to receive instruction from her current mentor. At least, so said those who had tried and failed to get her to submit to the dreary life of a Scholar. As it was, some of Lyra’s favourite pastimes was to discover every nook and cranny of her college.

“You worry too much, Pan,” Lyra said, as she tried to scale a section of the eastern tower, and, once she’d climbed a few metres, promptly lost purchase on the uneven bricks and fell back with an _“Oof!”_

Pan changed into hummingbird form, flitting back and forth in dual tones of concern and vindication. He felt no shame in telling her, “I told you so.”

Lyra huffed and tossed a handful of grass at him.

* * *

**1 – The Golden Monkey**

_Mrs. Coulter’s Flat_

Marisa Coulter was different, there was no doubt about that. Lyra and Pantalaimon thought they’d seen all there was to adulthood back in Oxford, but Pantalaimon had never once witnessed someone so glamorous and interesting as Mrs. Coulter. The woman had taken them to her posh flat in London – something Lyra might have turned her nose up at were it not for the fact that Mrs. Coulter was an explorer and willing to teach her what was needed for the same.

Indeed, she was poised, elegant, clever and much more appealing to talk to than any of the other female Scholars Lyra had met at Jordan. Her stories of the North were unparalleled by even the suspense of what Lord Asriel was doing there, of the things she’d read on the few occasions she’d borrowed some of the library’s vast tomes and accounts. However wonderful Mrs. Coulter was, though, Pantalaimon couldn’t help but be very unsettled by her dæmon.

The golden monkey was unnerving in a way Pan never sensed in others’ dæmons. Oddly still, barely interacting with his human – though none of that would have ordinarily bothered Pan. He knew plenty of people who preferred their dæmons stayed silent in public, but were incredibly affectionate once they were behind closed doors. He wasn’t sure why the monkey’s silence bothered him so, but it had to do with the way he’d barely heard a noise from the older dæmon, let alone a spoken word.

The most chilling thing about the golden monkey was how he seemed to disappear from Mrs. Coulter’s side sometimes, and appear again at random. Pantalaimon mentioned this once to Lyra and got a scoff in return.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Pan, it en’t possible.”

“I know what I saw,” Pan protested. “You didn’t notice but he _left the room_.”

Lyra hadn’t said, _you must be imagining things_ , but it was clearly what she’d thought. She hadn’t believed him until that night when she’d seen it for herself and confronted Mrs. Coulter about it. He found that he couldn’t quite count it as a victory.

Two days later, with the memory of the monkey’s sharp claws digging into his fur, Pan was more than glad to leave the place behind.

* * *

**2 – Kaisa**

_The Costas’ Houseboat_

Pantalaimon had been… confused, to say the least, about the witch’s dæmon. Sophonax had patiently explained to him as he flapped about agitatedly that witch’s dæmons had the ability to painlessly separate from them for long distances. Pan was relatively calmer now, but the sight of a dæmon without their human was strange enough that his hackles would have been raised had he been in wolf form. Apparently, all witches’ dæmons took the form of different birds, though Pan could not have guessed why Kaisa had found his current form apt for a witch-queen. He certainly carried himself like royalty, but Pan didn’t question it. It was really more intuition than anything that made a dæmon settle.

Kaisa had invited him to fly a little bit above the gyptians’ boat for a while, and Pan watched his powerful wings beat at the air a few times before relaxing into a comfortable angle. Pan did his best to mimic the older dæmon’s posture, and was pleased to end up right beside him. Kaisa nodded at him approvingly, and after one last loop around the mast, swooped down to perch on the railing near Lyra.

Pan followed him silently, hopping on the deck a few times and fluttering to rest on Lyra’s shoulder. She stroked his feathers gently once, before shifting her gaze to the magnificent sight of the Aurora above them. He let her be, knowing that he could pay enough attention to Kaisa, had he anything more to say to them.

“ _She_ could do it, you know,” Lyra said suddenly. “Mrs. Coulter. Separate from her dæmon, I mean.”

Kaisa looked mildly curious. “Then she must have a singular ability to do so, for I have not seen on who was not a witch move far from their souls without losing their life or suffering terrible agony.”

Perhaps it _had_ been agony, Pan thought, remembering the tight look on her face until the monkey had slipped out of Lyra’s bedroom in the flat. He decided not to mention this, but said, “D’you think she named us?”

Kaisa ruffled his wings. It was the closest to uncomfortable Pan had seen him, and recalled with some horror that Serafina Pekkala had once had a child of her own. He moved to apologise, but all Kaisa said was, “Perhaps. It could have been Asriel and…”

“Stelmaria,” he said helpfully, and Kaisa dipped his head in acknowledgement.

“For all we know, it could have been either parent, or both.”

Pan chirped. Kaisa stretched his neck to look at the Aurora above them and with a single, powerful move, launched off the boat into the sky.

* * *

**3 – Hester**

_Lee Scoresby’s Balloon_

The gas-balloon was unlike anything Lyra and Pan had imagined. From what little they knew of exploration in the North, there had been nothing about the subject of balloons. Pan had imagined a wicker basket and sandbags with a single gas valve to adjust the size of the flame, not this sophisticated engine of machinery that was also collapsible and could be put back together.

He was rightly impressed by its size – something Lee hadn’t missed (and Pan had caught him looking ridiculously pleased at his and Lyra’s reaction too, when Lyra had turned away). Anything that could hold a panserbjørne and still have room for more people without its systems failing was, in his opinion, massive. If Lyra had talked Lee’s ear off with questions about the balloon during their procession from Trollesund, this was a downright deluge of queries, all answered patiently by the aeronaut.

He checked up once on Roger and Salcilia, who were already drifting into slumber, and curled up next to Hester who didn’t protest. If anything, she shifted so that Pan was settled comfortably against her with his tail wrapped around him for warmth. He remained silent even as Lyra sank down into the space before him, watching curiously as Hester and Lee kept up their own cheerful dialogue as the balloon lifted smoothly into the air.

Pan was fascinated by the easy nature of their communication. Lee reminded him much of Lyra in his shrewd demeanour, more so the way he could lie through his teeth one moment and be completely sincere the next. And yet, for all his brazenness, he was always gentle with Lyra. Even stranger to Pan was his readiness to keep up conversation with Hester. Most adults preferred that dæmons stayed silent and the humans settled disputes or exchanged pleasantries between themselves.

Lee and Hester, though, were hardly quiet. What interested Pan most about them was the almost careless way Lee demonstrated his love for Hester. Perhaps that was what came of travelling alone with one’s dæmon for so long, but it seemed to be something more. He couldn’t help but compare their near-constant chatter to the absolute silence of the golden monkey. Pan supposed that was why he had felt so comfortable about Hester, despite hardly knowing her; it was the way Lee treated Hester as his soul with no regard for societal norms or what they dictated.

Pan was beginning to doubt how much of those norms made sense, anyhow, for even among the Scholars of Jordan such rules existed to ‘smooth over the process of academic debate’. Pantalaimon slowly and lightly hopped onto Lyra’s shoulder and wrapped himself about her neck like a fur collar, tail drooping in unison with her eyes. The signs of exhaustion were rearing their head right now, and Pan didn’t resist the pull of sleep.

The last thing he saw before his eyes slipped shut was Lee gently covering Lyra with a spare fur blanket.

* * *

**+1 – Lyra**

_Iofur Raknison’s Palace_

Lyra knew that the she could trust Iorek to fight Iofur Raknison. The alethiometer had told her so, twice, but that didn’t stop the terror from pressing in at the edges of her vision. Iorek was more than capable of holding his own in a fight against Iofur, but he had likely been physically exerting himself since the ambush at Bolvangar. He certainly wasn’t getting the special treatment that Iofur currently was, in his sickeningly lavish palace. Lyra very much wanted to tear it all down. The only thing that stopped her was the fear that it would give her falsehood away.

It was one thing to deceive Iofur, a bear who wanted beyond anything to be human, but something else entirely to fool other panserbjørn. Luckily, they left her alone at the threshold of the palace in their excitement to get first sight of Iorek. She heard rather than saw his return – the earth-shaking roars was enough signal that he’d arrived.

Iorek bounded into the palace and immediately started to ask after her well-being. She couldn’t speak for a moment past the lump in her throat, but she managed to stammer out a “Iorek, I’ve done something terrible,” before the entire story came out in a torrent of words.

Far from angry, Iorek seemed to be impressed by her tale, even more so at maintaining her ruse. His affirmation that he would go and fight Iofur sent energy coursing through her, as well as trepidation and worry at his fate. She looked him over once, _properly_ , and noticed that despite his size, which she never would have called _small_ but was undeniably so beside Iofur’s bulk, the fatigue that he undoubtedly just chased off with adrenaline in anticipation of a proper fight, the rusted and dented armour, he looked regal.

For all the opulence of his palace, Iofur could never hope to be noble, not in the way Iorek was.

In this moment, she thought she understood what it meant to be a dæmon. She rested a hand on Iorek’s snout, and while her eyes glittered with emotion, her voice was steady, a near mimic of Iorek’s growl. “Show him he’s _nothing._ ”


End file.
